Sweet
by MariLyn's Mello
Summary: This is basically a crossover between the Boosh boys and the short film Sweet. Rated M for slash and language. Please tell me what you think about it, really unsure and might be scrapped. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

**OK PLEASE COMMENT I AM SO UNSURE ABOUT THIS ONE!**

**This is a crossover for Sweet and The Mighty Boosh.**

**Sweet is a short film on the special features on disc 2 of series 2.**

**I am so unsure about this as I said, and I am sorry if this freaks anyone out (I don't know how it would though)**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**I don't own The Mighty Boosh or Sweet, Noel and Julien do.**

**Now read on reader while I go and crawl under my table.**

Noel felt his eyelids droop, the drugs taking their toll. He could hear Julien's scared screams in his ear, trying to keep his best friend awake, but Julien's words were a muffled jumble to Noel. Noel could still smell that sharp and peticular odor of the smoke, his throat screaming from when he inhaled it. His eyes suddenly shut, Julien's scared face dissapeared.

Everything went black.

My eyes clicked opem.

I was in a room, and it definately wasn't Julien's flat. The walls were painted a mystic forest green, paintings of abstract objects and bright colours hanging from each wall. There where two doors on either sides of the wall, but I wasn't going one step near them without knowing what the fuck was going on. I lifted myself up, my eyes not staying still for a second but darting around the room and taking in my surroundings. My head smashed against something hard, making my headache worse.

"Shit Noel, what on earth have you done now?" I muttered to myself, realizing I had banged my head on a bed post. The bed had a ruffled leopard print blanket and sky blue pillows, a bike helmet and a empty bottle of vodka on the bed. Someone had slept in it not that long ago.

I froze, suddenly realising how scared I should be.

I have just woken up in someones bedroom.

This could be a kind old womens flat.

Or a flesh eating serial murderer.

Oh shit.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, starting to pace. I tried to get my mind straight, hoping that something would show.

Was it the drugs?

I must be.

Right?

Was else could it have been?

White light shined through a round window, it was the weirdest window I'd seen (Well that I can remember anyway).

I ran over to the window and spied on the world outside, and gasped.

It was Camden.

I didn't know where in Camden but I was there.

What was going on?

This had to be the drugs.

I felt lost, scared and drunk at the same time. I didn't even think it was possible! The room starting to get smaller.

Why didn't I listen to Julien?

The left door swung open, a familiar man walking into the room

Julien.

"JULIEN?!" I shouted, stopping dead in my tracks.

He had shaved his moustache, hair cut short. He wore a black jacket, black denim jeans and a band shirt.

Whatever kind of fucked up world I'm in, it's pretty weird.

A grin immedialtely spread on his face as he saw me staring bug eyed at him with my jaw down to the floor.

"Hey there Sweetie" He purred, his voice deeper than normal. Sweetie? Since when has Julien called me sweetie. He came over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. Julien pressed his lips against mine, pushing his tongue between my lips and exploring my mouth. He pulled away, seeing my face frozen in shock.

This was Julien!

The Julien!

The Julien that took three hours to get to an interview with Hot Chip because he got lost in the car and I got there before him and I was WALKING!(I'm drifting from the point a bit).

"Whats wrong Sweetie?" He asked, rubbing his thumbs against the bare skin at my hips, sending chills up my spine. I tried to speak, but the words seem to stop dead in my throat. He kissed me again, my body like a statue. He grabbed my wrists and pushed me onto the bed, jumping onto me so his thighs were against my legs, biting at my neck. I squeaked as he grabbed my crotch, pushing his hips against mine. He ripped off his jacket and threw it across the room, a wild look in his eyes.

This is not going to go where it looks like it will!

No. Fucking. Way!

This must be a joke! Would Julien be moaning pleasurably, having an erection and ripping off my shirt for a joke? I tried to move, but was trapped under Julien. He drew his tongue up my neck, biting at my bare skin. I thought despritely of a way to get out of this, forgetting completely about the room. Julien had started to trail kisses down my chest, sucking at my bellybutton. He started to undo my fly, slipping his hands in my skinnies and biting at my boxers, and thats when I struck.

I brang the heel of my shoe into Julien's crotch, Julien yelping and falling to the floor.

Works every time.

I picked up the vodka bottle as a weapon, taking of advantage of him and jumping onto him, my thighs against his. He tried to bite my nipples, but I pushed him down.

"Jeez Pete! All I wanted to do was to bum you!" Julien exclaimed.

Pete?

Bum?

Me?!

"Pete?" I asked. "Julien. Who the fuck is Pete?" Julien's face froze, his body loosening from under me.

"Y-you're not Pete" He spluttered. I nodded slowly.

"Julien, are you ok. I'm supposed to be the one on drugs not you!?" Julien looked at me curiously.

"Julien. Who the fuck is Julien?"

My blood ran stone cold.

I tried to look for the truth in his eyes, but there was no truth to see.

He wasn't lying.

I let the bottle roll out of my hand, I collapsed next to the man I thought I knew.

"This is impossible" I whispered. The man held his hand out to me, gesturing a handshake.

"Stitch" He said.

"Noel" I replied.

And why was I introducing myself to a complete stranger that just tried to bum me up the A hole?

I shook his hand, suprised as he brang it to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss onto it.

"Look I am so sorry about... I thought you were my boyfriend Pete because... you look... I'm sorry" He muttered, eyes on his feet.

"Do you have a clue whats going because this is pretty freaky?" I asked. Stitch shook his head.

"No idea" He looked at me, staring oddly at my clothes and hair. "You look exactly like Pete. You may have different clothes and hair, but..." He drifted off, pulling a strand of my raven hair out from my face.

I hope he's not getting any ideas.

"And you look exactly like my best friend" I said. Stitch looked quite sexy, even though he looks like Julien. Stitch looked at me with cheeky eyes.

"I swear if you didn't cripple me, I would be fucking you right now!" He laughed. "Why are we so calm? We are in a room with someone we don't even know, and in you're case just tried to fuck you"

"I don't have a clue" I said, sitting next to Stitch. Stitch pulled a bottle of vodka from under the bed.

"Just in case" He said, taking a long gulp of the alcohol. "What some?"

I had just been high on drugs.

Almost raped.

Stuck in a room with a man called Stitch who could be a escapee from Askaban Prison.

Why not?

I grabbed the bottle, the liquid slipping down my throat.

"Be careful with that"Stitch slurred. "Very strong stuff" I took an extra long sip.

"I'll live"

The moonlight shone down on me, Stitch's face lit up by the light. My head was spinning, it was impossible to stand up without falling over.

Since when has vodka been that strong?

I only had a sip.

Or two.

Maybe a couple.

Half the bottle.

I sighed and pulled off my jacket, ruffling my hair up. I looked over to Stitch, smiling at my new found friend.

Well not really a friend friend.

Aquanances?

Drinking buddies?

Bum Chums?

I don't care.

He was just like Julien, except for the non moustache business.

Nice.

Caring.

Sexy.

Wait! Sexy? No way! You are not gay!

I blocked the thought out of my head and pushed in a more worrying one.

Where the fuck was I?

I could be dreaming, but this feels too real.

This could be the drugs, if it is then I don't think this is suppose to be happening.

Could I be in a coma, barley alive?

Dead?

I shuddered, the thought sending cold chills down my spine.

Everyone would be gone.

Julien.

Mike.

Rich.

Dave.

Dee.

Paul.

Gone.

All gone.

I let a silent tear drip down my face, followed by more. I started to sob, waking Stitch from his light slumber.

"Hey, are you ok?" He croaked.

"Fine fine" I tried to say without sobbing, but failed. Stitch rolled next to me and wrapped his arms around me, his body surprisingly warm. I don't know why, but being hugged by Stich was nice.

In my books, he was a suspected pervert from Leeds.

"I know I'm a complete stranger and all you know about me is my name, but please tell me what's wrong" He whispered. I sniffed.

"I think I might be dead" I said, struggling to say the last word. "That I can't ever go back, because of my fucking stupid desicion!" I started, my voice getting louder. "I won't be able to see everyone I love and care for ever again because my fucking desicions about taking 'just a little' drugs because I am a fucking arsehole and I was stupid git!" I screamed, grasping my fringe tightly in my fingers. Stitch pulled my hands away, his face calm.

"You are not dead, I know it. Would I be here if you were dead?" He asked, I shook my head. "See? You're not dead, and we will figure out what the Hell is going on in the morning"

"Thanks" I smiled, taking hold of my anger and bottling inside again. We went back to silence, the only sounds coming from the night life of Camden. "Stitch?"

"Yer?"

"How are you so calm?"

"Drunk as a donkey on hind legs" He laughed, his eyes falling shut. I looked out at the starry sky that glittered through the window, the starry sky I wished to apreciate if I got home.

"Now, whats you're name?"

"Noel Fielding. Have you heard of me cause I'm sorta famous?"

"No, never heard of you"

The questions period wasn't going too well, with the only certain facts our names, we weren't getting anywhere. I nibbled at my slice of toast, strawberry jam coating my lips. Stitch had purple rims around his eyes, but he still managed to look half decent. We were in the kitchen, the walls painted a dark purple coated in green tiles. The kitchen was suprisingly clean for a drunk man, dishes put away and table clean.

It was the strangest sight I'd seen in the last five minutes for each time I turn a corner, a new sight would catch my eye.

"So, why did you call me Pete last night?" I asked Stitch. Stitch blushed, eyes to the black and white tiled floor.

"Pete is... well... my boyfriend" He muttered. I stopped eating, trying not open my jaw to reveal my breakfast of toast and orange juice.

"You're gay?" I asked, trying not to sound shocked, remembering that this was the man with his arms around me last night.

"Yes" He said.

"Do you..." I couldn't finish my sentence.

"Explain" Stitch said.

"Do you... with Pete?" I asked nervously. Stitch still looked blank. I sighed and put my index finger through a cupped fist, knowing that if this didn't work I'd have to say it aloud in which I would rather not. Stitch face lit up, he'd got it.

"Oh! Yer! All the time, bum his up the arse and lick his-" I cut Stitch short with whatever question I could think of, the mental images getting too pornographic.

"What does he look like?" I asked urgently.

"Well to be honest, he kinda looks exactly like you" Stitch said.

"Me?"

"Yer, he's got a brown mullet, big blue eyes, pale skin and same height, but he dresses differently" He said, eyeing at my tight peach coloured skinnies and black chelsea boots. Stitch picked up his jacket that looked like Howard Moon's Library suit and skulled the last of his coffee.

"I've got to go, duty calls" He said.

"You have a job?"

"I don't looked the type, do I?" He said, pulling a smile that I couldn't help but giggle at. He grabbed his bag from one of the red plastic IKEA seats and began to walk out the door. I was on his tail, grabbing onto his shoulder before he could walk out the door.

"Um, when a stranger appears at you're flat, don't you think a day off work is necessary?" I asked.

"I can't afford to take a day off, you'll have to entertain yourself until I come back" He said, as if it was a casual thing to do. I stood in the kitchen as he grabbed several items from around the flat. "Now, theres a TV there, do you know what that is?" He grinned, I nodded and held in my giggles. He pointed out items so fast, his hand was a blur. "DVDs. CDs. Fridge. Paper. Porn Mags just in case. Pencils, Toilet. I think thats it" He came over, kissing me on the cheek and stumbling back as he realised what he'd done. "Wow... sorry about that..."

"It's ok..."

"I thought you were Pete again..."

"Yer... its ok..."

Stitch nodded, his cheeks turning red, he ran out the door. The flat was empty.

There was just me.

Back to square one.

Good old square one.

I let out a small whimper as I realised how big the room was and how small _I_ was compared. There was always someone with me at my flat.

Always.

Dee. Michael. Sue. Rich. Russell. Dave. Paul. Nemo.

But I didn't go a day... without seeing Julien.

Julien.

My filler of scary black space.

My knight armed with a guitar.

My reader of maps (Considering my map reading skills are those of a sitck bug thing)

My College.

My aquantance.

My friend.

My love.

LOVE?! YOU HAVE GONE OFF YOU'RE ROCKER NOEL! (Not that I had a rocker in the first place) I slapped myself, the stinging on my cheek pulling me back into the giant kitchen. I decided to walk around the flat, hoping to wear off the clostaphobic fear. There were four rooms in his flat.

Bathroom (Which had the toilet in it which I think is pretty fucked).

Kitchen.

Bedroom.

Living room.

It was actually a nice flat, I could actually live here. I flicked through the videos in the living room, my eyes laying on a small tape labelled _For our Holy Lord_. I put it in the VCR, picking up the remote and pressing play.

"Oh. Pete. I want every muscle of you inside me"

"OH STITCH GOD AND MARY! GIVE ME MORE!"

"What about this?! Hurt?"

OH MY GOD! THIS IS PRACTICALLY X!

I grabbed for the remote, pressing stop and pulling out the tape and putting it back were it had lay. I shuddered, why did I have to find out what Pete looked like in that way?!

I reminded to ask Stitch why he made porn movies and continued my journey through the normal yet fucked up flat. I felt like Alice in wonderland, everything seeming too big. My breath started to get short, causing me to grasp my throat.

Oh shit.

No!

I hated it.

Spaces.

Small.

Enclosed.

Spaces.

I dropped to my knees and started taking big gasps of air, choking on nothing.

I had to calm down.

What could calm me down?!

But then I remembered what Julien told me to do, when I started to panic.

_'Act the Vince'_

Act the Vince?

ACT THE VINCE!?

HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO 'ACT'THE VINCE!?!

You are Vince!

You own The Mighty Boosh!

He's practically you're brother!

So... act the Vince.

My eyes laid on the bike helmet, a naughty smile that a evil five year old would give to the puppies in the window spreading over my face.

"Act the Vince" I commented aloud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, chapter 2.**

**I probably will make spelling mistakes on the account of I am extremely under the weather (Vomiting, room bigger that I think and spinning)**

**So here its goes.**

**Dedicated to the readers.**

_Why_ did I have to act the Vince?

Why oh why oh why?

I wonder if I'll ever get out from under this thing. I shuffled my legs in hope that in the three hours I had been stuck under this cupboard I had lost weight, but I wasn't getting anywhere soon. I could still feel the books and CDs falling of the shelves and clattering around me. Cars was still playing on the tape recorder, Gary almost mocking me with the lyrics as I lay there.

So what happened was pretty obvious.

Dancing to Cars with the scooter helmet on my head pretending to be Vince Noir (None of this shit would happen to him, the stupid bugger).

Tripped on a used johnny (and the contents of it is all over my chealsea boot cause I can see it from here).

Fell into a cupboard (Did I mention my head is leaking).

And bang; litrally.

I made another pathetic excuse to reach for the phone, knowing that I'd probably be here all night anyway. I sighed and gave up, wondering how long Stitch would be out (His 'job' was probably getting pissed at the pub) and started on how long it would take me to die.

Don't need to eat, never do anyway.

Don't need water, only to water that big green cactus in the corner that looks like it may eat me very soon.

Now that I think of it, I'd be the perfect pet.

I more reliable than the freaking big green cactus. I decided to imagine life as a pet to keep my spirits high.

Ok.

Woof, no more grace needed, meow.

Better.

Yes, some kind of cat.

Kitty Cat.

Cat fur.

Fluffy.

Fluffly handcuffs.

Julien strapped to a bed naked with fluffly handcuffs with me as a kitty cat holding a wip and a collar.

OH MY LORD! Where in wheelbarrow city did **that **come from?! BLOCK IT OUT! But my mind had already produced the image and before I knew it, my skinnies had gone from tight to cutting off the God dam circulation around my crotch.

"OH MY GOD!" I screamed to myself and the giant appartment (and the big green cactus but he didn't seem bothered), smacking my head repeatedly on the floor. Out of every single _fucking_ person God has made, he has to make **me** have the ultimate hoolies for my best friend! (These are the few timess that when I think about God, I dislike him) AND ALL THIS TIME!

Thats why I thought he was sexy!

Thats why I thought Stitch was sexy, because he looked like Julien!

I let out the angriest growl I could come up with (aka. A pathetic kitten) and once again let my head fall to the faded wooden floor.

I felt like shit.

I felt lower than the big green cactus.

Like dirt.

Like shit.

Basically.

And me being gay wasn't the problem.

Gay.

Gay gay gay.

Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay.

I shut my eyes and indulged in the night sky that had started to roll over the city, trying to forget everything that was happening.

If only it were that simple.

It was like a fucked up episode of Life on Mars crossover with Hollyoaks.

My name is Noel Fielding. I took God knows what at a party and woke up in Stitchs bedroom somewhere in Camden. I am stuck under a cupboard and just found out I was gay for my best friend.

Am I back in time?

Doubt it.

Mad?

Already am.

In a coma?

Or just fucking dead?!

But there are three things that I know for certain while I'm under this cupboard.

1. That mess on my boot is definately semen.

2. I am dead gay for Julien Barratt.

3. I can see the blood dripping down my face and I'm feeling quite woozy and I think I'm going to die soon...

My ears woke up before my eyes.

"Nice bird you got there Stitch. Looks exactly like Pete. Except hotter" A stranger said, kicking one of my feet.

"OH SHIT!" I heard Stitch shout.

Footsteps running to my side.

"Noel! NOEL! OH GOD WAKE UP! Dave! Help us move him!" He screamed.

"Him?!"

"Yes! Now help me!"

I could feel the weight of the cupboard being lifted off my body, blood starting to flow again, my body feeling like a rag doll. I was picked up into someones arms and ran to the bedroom.

"Is that Pete or have I had too much to drink?" Dave asked.

"You've always had too much to drink!" Stitch said calmer this time. I could practically feel his eyes burning into my skin.

Ok! Games over Noel! Wake up!

But something in my head told me to hang on for a bit longer.

Something in my brain told me to wait.

Stitch put his head on my chest, listening for a heart beat that he would most definately find!

Oh my God!

I held my breath and hoped that my heart would momentarily stop.

My mind started to drift to an episode of E.R I saw when I felt hot liquor lips push mine open.

"Dude!" Dave shouted, but I was too wrapped in Stitch's lips to give two shillings!

This is what I was waiting for!

Either that or I was waiting to die and come back as a cat so my fluffly handcuff antasy could come true.

I could feel air being pushed down my throat.

CPR.

I LOVE CPR!

Wait! I'm still alive! I already have air, I don't need anymore! My lungs felt at bursting point, I spluttered and pulled away away from the fake kiss. I opened my eyes to see a relieved Stitch, a drunken Dave who had popped open a bottle of champange from God knows where to celebrate my life even though he didn't know who the fuck I was.

And I had a dangerous taste for Stitchs breath.

**Yays! Done another!**

**Reviews are like Columbos the crab!**

**Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, need to finish this soon!**

**I'm using a library computer and the library's just about to close!**

**Argh! **

**Reviews make me so happy like a high Naboo.**

**Dedicated for the readers.**

I paced back and forth in the bedroom, clicks of my boots (which I had sterilized with Ajax and rubber gloves) following each step I took.

There must be a way!

My brain was sizzling I was thinking so hard, I could already feel pieces of it falling out of my ears.

I never did the proper plan thinking (Except that time I thought of a toaster on wheels so I wouldn't have to walk all the way to the kitchen to throw it at the wall cause it burnt all the fucking toast!)

It was always Julian.

Julian.

Julian Barratt.

It had a ring.

Noel.

Noel Fielding.

Noel Barratt.

Nice.

WAIT!? Now I want to _marry_ him? Great! Well forget about Julian and everything tonight.

It's all about Stitch.

Stitchy Stitchy Stitch.

I don't even know his last name.

I heard a scream from the kitchen. After the three bottles of champagne (equally divided so Stitch and Dave got a bottle each and I poured mine into the carpet), Stitch had insisted he make me a 'hearty' dinner when Dave had left.

Think Noel, THINK!

That's it!

It was if a light bulb had been turned on on top of my head.

The perfect plan to get Stitch to kiss me.

I'll make the room sexy.

The attitude sexy.

The talk sexy.

The atmosphere sexy.

He's already dying without Pete and he said I look so much like him so he won't be able to resist kissing me! I let out an evil laugh, almost expecting thunder and lightning to flicker and boom in the background.

I was really going mad.

Well that answers The Big Fat Life on Mars question of the year.

Oh well, mental health later, seduction first.  
And then I stopped.

Not fly-down-my-throat stop.

Big.

Dead.

Stop.

I didn't blink.

I felt like a rabbit trapped in a cobras gaze.

The picture.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

I walked over to what had caught my eyes, picking up a small picture in a gold frame made to look like vines that twisted into each other.

It was a modern photo, but was in black and white. It was of a theatre, surrounded by dozens of people who I assumed where the audience. A man was on stage, but was too far away to study in detail, but he looked like he was doing stand-up. The theatre was small, looked like a pub, like where Julian and I used to perform.

Who was the man on stage?

Why was this so familiar?

AND WHO THE FUCK WOULD WEAR A SHIRT LIKE THAT?

There they were, a man wearing the most hideous shirt in history. It looked like one of Howard's Hawaiian shirts that had had decided to set itself on fire.

My eyes started to water.

I placed the picture back on the desk and walked into the living room, greeted by the smell of burning toast.

"You fucking piece of shit! If you don't stay in the bowl I'll have to glad wrap you there!" I heard Stitch scream. I had only been here for a day and I already knew that Pete must've done all the cooking. The only thing Stitch could make was cereal and he somehow managed to burn that as well. I peered into the kitchen to see Stitch at battle with some kind of powdery mixture, armed with a sheet of cling wrap.

He had Julian's arse.

You couldn't help but look as he did this sort of ice-down-your-back crossover with washing-the windows move.

He looked like a simpleton to the passersby who could see him from out the window.

But he looked absolutely irresistible to me.

I started to clean the living room, assuming we were eating in there considering the kitchen looked like no mans land.

Ok, sexy atmosphere.

I threw random clothes that scattered the floor over the lamps to make the light in the room dimmer, not that it really worked. The chance of finding candles in this house was the chance of me cutting my hair again anytime soon so that wasn't going to happen. I fluffed up the pillows and neatened the crinkles out from the carpet, grabbing the tape _for out Holy Lord_ (I might need therapy for that when I get out of here) and burying it deep into a pile of CDs. The apartment was covered in CDs, records, tapes, videotapes, DVDs, hiding under the beds (I found a David Bowie CD under the bed) and pretending to be books (A tape of Bob Marley next to Jamie Oliver's guide to cooking). I flicked through the music, looking for a song to set the mood.

I was looking for Razor light.

And came out with Cradle of Filth.

Close enough.

I sat on the arm of the couch, thinking of sexy poses I could get away with. I crossed my legs, pulling my shoulders back and placing my hands on my thighs.

Stitch walked into the room holding what looked like two run over cats on plates.

I kicked one of my legs up and fell off the side of the couch and into a heap onto the floor. Stitch laughed and placed the plates down onto the coffee table, offering me a hand but I was already back on the couch.

Blushing as red as a goldfish (Not that their red anyway).

Strike one.

Stitch sat next to me.

Closer than a friend would, I noticed.

I felt like I had to eat the run over food, but my stomach disagreed and growled in anger as I took a tiny bite.

It tasted like I was eating a vampire!

Salty.

Stale.

Fleshy.

Not that I have eaten a vampire before.

Stitch hadn't touched his yet, he watched me as I desperately tried not to throw it all up.

Maybe he should try it, and then he'll see why I look like I just swallowed a traffic cone!

"Do you like it?" Stitch asked. He looked at me with those giant yet small Julian eyes that made my jaw open and the contents of road kill look alike in my mouth be seen by Stitch. I quickly shut my gob and nodded enthusiastically, wondering if I should call the poison line as I'd just swallowed the mouthful.

Strike two.

"It's a quiche" He said proudly.

I thought I was going to wet myself.

Have you ever had those times where you really want to laugh but if you do you'll probably get in huge trouble?

Well, this was one of them.

Quiche?

QUICHE!

Its looks like a fucking roasted guinea pig! It looked like something The Vikings would wear to cover their balls!

I instinctually put my hand over my mouth and tried not to choke on the Edward Cullen quiche. But I spat it in my hand and let out giggles and laughs and snorts and all sorts.

That's it.

Strike three.

I was out.

That's what I thought anyway.

I scraped the muck off my hand and onto my plate and plucked up every piece of courage I had to look Stitch in the eye. I went to rub my eyes then remembered what had just been vomited up on it.

He looked...Love struck?

Like a tiger in heat.

Was he growling?

He looks like he's going to kill me.

God, it's just a quiche!

Before I knew it, I was pushed against the arm of the sofa. He closed every gap of space so my face was only millimeters from his, I could feel his hot breath on my face.

"I am so sorry" He whispered into my ear, with no apologetic tone in his voice. He kissed my ear lobe and started to trail kisses downwards. I wiped my hand on the side of the couch when I had the chance, hoping my heart wasn't beating too loudly. He kissed my lips softly, I kissed back in the same rhythm.

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!

HE'S KISSING ME!

THE JULIAN BARRAT!

NO! STITCH! STITCH! NOT JULIAN!

He slipped his tongue between our lips, pushing his hand up my shirt and drawing what I thought were love hearts on my waist.

It was either love hearts or stick trees, details didn't really matter at the present moment. He ripped his shirt clean off, throwing it into what was our dinner and breaking the kiss suddenly.

"Why the Hell are we doing this?" He asked.

I looked at him with the biggest, bluest sapphire eyes.

"Because I lo-"

I was about to say it.

Love.

I love you.

But I don't.

I love Julian.

I just pretended he was Julian.

I just wanted Stitch to love me because I know that Julian never would.

I didn't ever love Stitch, I just loved his looks.

My throat choked up, I felt hot tears streaming down my face. I tried to finish my sentence but all that came out was a sob. I squirmed out from under Stitch's bare chest and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and falling against it in a heap. Sobs escaped my throat, my tears dropping onto the white tiles silently. I shut my eyes and tried to picture Julian's face.

Soft.

Gentle.

Caring

Angry?

I pictured me telling him that I loved him.

His face was filled with rage.

A twisted sneer.

A cruel snicker.

He looked like a different person.

But then I couldn't see his face.

Because he turned his head away.

He couldn't look at me.

Because I loved him.

I tried to tell myself that Julian would never do that.

He'd never just walk away.

He wouldn't leave me.

He couldn't.

He shouldn't.

But I could stop him.

I could talk to him if he tried.

He'd listen.

Right?

**Oh ending on a down note!**

**I'd like to thank everyone for reviewing!**

**You get me up in the morn (Oh this fair morn!)**

**Reviews are cooleo!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok I am at my old school again, I am soooo happy!**

**This has nothing to do with anyone.**

**Thanks everyone for reviewing!!!**

**Sorry for any spelling mistakes!**

**I don't own Sweet or the Boosh.**

**Dedicated to the readers.**

"Noel, please get out of there!"

My bathroom strike had gone on for an hour now, and neither of us was winning. But one of us had to be winning; it was probably me because I was the one who had full access to the bathroom where as Stitch didn't and by the way he was begging, he'd probably drunk some Jack Daniels since I'd gone in.

A.k.a He really needed to piss.

I had now resorted to having a staring competition with myself in the mirror.

And to top it all of, I was winning at that too.

But I couldn't help noticing that my reflection was crying.

Big fat tars running down his face and bottom lip trembling.

He hugged himself, making himself look skinnier than normal.

His hair looked lifeless and dull.

And that's when I realized that the reflection was just a picture of me.

I was crying.

The image of Julian sneering and laughing at me had brought down a baseball bat on my china heart, smashing it into small pieces that would take time to piece back together.

I paid the price for loving forbidden fruit.

I was punished for something I didn't do on purpose.

It wasn't fair.

I looked at the door as Stitch made a weak attempt at breaking it down.

Doors just weren't made like they were in The Bill.

I remembered that time when Julian-

NO! DON'T THINK ABOUT HIM!

But it was too late, my cock buzzed and the lump in my throat got bigger. I sobbed quietly, lying on the tiles once more and curling into a ball.

Great, now I was crying and I was hard.

What a wonderful world it is.

"Noel! Please! We were both lonely and sad but that was no excuse to get off with each other!"

Sounds like a pretty good excuse to me. I could've had it with the (2nd, remember DON'T SAY HIS NAME is probably still alive) hottest man alive.

BUT NOOOOO!

Emotions just had to bugger it up, didn't they?

Stupid fuckers.

I stood up on shaken legs and walked to the mirror, looking at a man I hardly knew staring back at me.

And then it hit me (again).

Literally, due to me slipping over on the tiles and smacking my head on the toilet bowl.

"NOEL! OH MY GOD NOEL!" Stitch screamed, trying to bash the door down once more.

The bet I made with myself that Stitch would never be able to break down the door had been lost.

The door came off its hinges and fell to the floor with a crack, Stitch was lying on the door, holding onto it for dear life.

And with that, 60 billion dollars, a pair of giant red scissors and my bowler hat had been gambled and lost.

Stitch crawled over to me, grabbing my head in his hands and looking me over.

"Thank fuck, I thought you were dead this time" He said, relieved.

And I took in the biggest breath, fell backwards and screamed.

"I'VE GOT IT!!"

And I did.

I ran out the bathroom, running to the bedroom and grabbing the picture of the theatre. I worked on ripping the back off, tongue sticking out the corner of my mouth in concentration.

If only the frame was from IKEA.

Fucking love that place.

And I'm drifting from the point (Seriously, when I'm crying on the floor there's no random remarks to be made, but when something fucking exciting happens, you don't get to know what it is because I blabber on about IKEA).

Stitch simply stood a meter behind me.

"You know, Pete cheated on girls once?" He said.

"Oh really?" I said, not interested in the conversation as now it had gotten personal between me and frame.

"Yer. Twice actually. The first was with a girl called Poppy, and he went out with her. But then she said she was pregnant and Pete reacted badly so the sex life was on hold. That was until Daisy came along and then her and Pete got together. I was so fucking jealous, because I liked him back then you see. What was that? About six, seven months ago? Not that I don't like him now! Anyway, Poppy was only kidding when she said she was pregnant, just to see how Pete would react. So he had two girls on two arms. So I told Daisy, and I expected Pete to come running into my arms. But no! He had both girls. They both forgave him! But then, and I swear this is a miracle, Poppy and Daisy ran off together. Leaving Pete all alone. And somehow, he knew it was me that told Daisy. So he beat me up. And then we fucked. Now we're lovers"

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Pardon?" Stitch asked.

"No! Not you!" I said, throwing the frame at the wall.

This frame was going to pay.

I ran over to the frame and grabbed it; I jumped on the bed and rolled on my back, pushing my Chelsea boot against the back of the frame.

"You arsehole licking, badger fucking, tool dickwank bitchy Twat!" I screamed at the frame.

I needed to get that photo.

I had realized in my hour of need (and tissues) why that person doing stand up was so familiar to me.

Because that person doing stand up was Julian Barratt.

We used to do stand up all the time there.

What was the name of the place, I don't know.

And I think if I get this picture and look at the back, it may give me a way to get home.

Some numbers to type into a magic calculator.

A potion that sends me home.

I do not know and I honestly do not care what the fuck it is, I just want to go home.

And tell the man that I fucking love him.

"You know, if I slept with you now, I wouldn't be hurting Pete. It would just be a payback to what he gave me, right? All those years flirting?"

"Yer, whatever, suit yourself" And to tell you the truth I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about.

I was tackled to the bed, my arms pinned down. Something hard pressed against my stomach and something was scratching at my neck.

Let me explain.

Stitch was the one who had tackled me.

He pinned my arms down.

The thing pressing into my stomach was his very erect cock.

And that wasn't scratching on my neck that was Stitch nibbling at my Adams apple.

Oh shit, for once Dr Phil was right about listening and 'If you just nod along, you'll regret it' point.

"STIT-" This sentence was cut of by a tongue down my throat, Stitches tongue.

Jesus Christ, you'd think he was cleaning it by the way he going.

I closed my eyes and 'acted' along, rubbing against him like a cat (Meow, see? The fluffy handcuffs fantasy is possible).

Oh what the Hell, I was practically loving having Stitch on me!

He pulled away and whispered in my ear.

"Forget Pete. He hurt me bad, so its just fair that I get to hurt him" And then he ripped his shirt off for the third time, this time managing to slip out of his jeans.

How he got his shoes off is a mystery.

He wrapped his legs around my waist to keep me still, throwing my arms away and pulling my shirt of gently. I pecked his lips playfully, my skinnies becoming a torture weapon as I realized I was as hard as Stitch.

SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

OH MY LORD, THIS IS DIFFERENT THAN THE OTHER TIMES, I AM ALMOST NAKED AND WELL HE ALREADY IS OH MY LORD WHAT DO I DO? I COULD HAVE SEX WITH HIM, EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER HAD GAY SEX BEFORE. AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE A COCK UP MY ARSE CAUSE I'M MORE FEMINE OH DEAR. WE COULD BE THE ONES TO BECOME LOVERS.

I COULD FINALLY HAVE A MAN THAT I LOVE WHO LOVES ME!!!!!

Well he'd looked like the man anyway…

Stitch smothered my chest in kisses, worshipping my in every way.

"I promise I won't tell Julian" He said, kissing my ear.

Was he mocking me?

Yes he fucking was!

But now is not the time for this.

"Um hey Stitch, don't you think we should reconsider this?" I asked Stitch, who was totally occupied with running his fingernails up my back. He kissed me again, letting out a mumbled 'no'.

I'm up shit creek and the paddles have been thrown overboard due to the sexual tension.

So now as Stitch tried to pull my shoes off, I had to figure out how to stop him before he got down to my Y fronts (Which were black with white outline).

And how to get that fucking photo out of its frame.

And at that minute of deep thinking when Stitch was rubbing his face against my groin, I smashed the glass of the frame over his head.

He shrieked and jumped off me, the glass shattered and I cheered.

Two birds with one stone.

"What the fuck? One minute you want me to fuck you, and the next minute you smash me over the head for me to stop!? What the fuck Noel?" He screamed, rubbing his head.

I smiled.

"You're not the man I love, you're just Stitch. I'm not the man you adore, I am Noel. And Pete and Julian could be bumming like bunnies right this second I have no fucking idea, but what if they weren't, what would they think of us? We would be two men who have lost hope in seeing their loved ones, so they go to the closest person who likes them. And that's just fucking bad"

Stitch smiled.

"You're right" He said. I pulled the photo out from the shattered glass and as I knew already, Julian stood on the stage.

And I turned it around.

To see a date.

The date of today.

And a time.

A time that would become present in an hour.

My mind was spinning, but I managed to do the math.

If you don't get to the theater at that time, you're fucked…

**Ok that's that.**

**Reviews are awesome, I try reply to all of them!**

**Loves!**


	5. ATTENTION ALL READERS!

**Hello fellow Boosh fans. **

**I am informing you that this story will be continued from here forth, as for the last millennium it has been untouched by me, yet you dazzling people seem to enjoy it. Some parts will be rewritten, corrected and changed because I cannot continue something with such poor grammar and plot but I assure you the characters, plot and motive remains true. Chapters will be spread out longer. Thank you for all the reviews and the readers who still read this long after I'd gone, this is my present to you. **

**Lots of Cockney Love from Marilyn'sMello, originally known as STRIPEYPURPLEVIXONGIRL. **


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